


A Supernatural Halloween

by RoadrunnerGER



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Doctor Who Creature, Guardian Angel, Halloween, Hurt/Comfort, Time Travel, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-09 18:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16455161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoadrunnerGER/pseuds/RoadrunnerGER
Summary: For once, the boys are going to have a normal holiday... will they?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks, here's a little Halloween story I came up with. It should be completed by Halloween. Enjoy!  
> Big thanks to my beta, [User24601](https://archiveofourown.org/users/User24601/pseuds/User24601)

  A junkyard could have been an adventure playground for two boys, that is if those boys had a normal childhood. The brothers currently living at Bobby Singer's, though, did not live an apple pie life. Most of the year, they were on the road with their father, John Winchester.

  Always a new town.

  Always a new school.

  Always the new boys in a place they did not belong.

  And occasionally, their father dropped them off at Bobby's, usually when he suspected he would be involved with a case for a long time.

  Nine-year-old Sam did not have any problem staying with his Uncle Bobby as he liked to stay in the same place for longer amounts of time. His thirteen-year-old brother Dean on the other hand, usually seemed to get a strong case of wanderlust after a couple of weeks. So Sam was not surprised that he had turned into a bad-tempered douchebag after being stuck for more than two months.

  August had turned into October.

  Not surprisingly, Sam had turned into a poster schoolboy.

  Bobby's home had turned into some sort of spook house, which was a surprise.

  During October, their father's hunting friend had taken to collecting everything Halloween. A fake skeleton dangled from the rafters above the front porch, along with synthetic spider webs, a giant spider, and several pumpkins sitting on the floor. The decoration did not stop outside but continued from the entrance, over the living room, to the kitchen. Jack O' Lanterns, ghosts, zombies, more spider webs and much more scattered around the whole house.

  Except Dean's half of the room he shared with his brother during their stay.

  “I don't understand your obsession with Halloween,” Dean groused while reassembling the weapon he had cleaned, “You know better than those spoiled brats at school.”

  Rolling his eyes, Sam refused to answer. Instead, he stuck his nose deeper into his books.

  Snorting, Dean recalled how Sam came to the junkyard with other boys from his class, showing them around the decorated parts of the house. Uncle Bobby had even rigged fishing line to make one of the plastic skeletons move in a playful attempt to scare the boys. Apparently, they had a lot of fun which made Sam happy, and that made the whole charade justifiable in Dean's book. Still, he had problems comprehending his little brother's change of mind, so he insisted, “C'mon, Sammy. You've always disliked Halloween. What makes this year any different?”

  Shrugging lopsidedly, Sam kept his head down.

  “Sammy...?” Dean prodded. Having cared for his little brother ever since he was four-years-old and had carried him out of the fire that had killed their mother, the elder Winchester brother knew the moods of his sibling well. Right now, it was clear Sam simply did not want to share what was on his mind, most likely because he thought that Dean would not approve.

  “Don't you have homework to do?” Sam tried to deflect.

  “Samuel Henry Winchester.”

  Hearing his full name, the younger brother's head snapped up. Glowering at Dean, he tossed an eraser at him.

  “Cute,” Dean chuckled as he intercepted the projectile aimed at his head. “Now, Sammy... What's up?”

  Heaving a sigh, Sam replied, “I still don't like Halloween.”

  Expecting more, Dean leaned forward, forearms supporting him on the tabletop. Once more, though, he had to push, “Then what is this really about?”

  “I just like being like them,” Sam finally admitted.

  Astounded, Dean sat back up.

  “So what?” he queried with disbelief, “You put up with all the Halloween paraphernalia in order to be liked by your new friends at school?”

  Sam shook his head.

  “No,” he mumbled, looking down at his school books. “I'm trying to feel normal.”

  Dumbfounded, Dean reached out for his brother's hand.

  “Sammy...”

  Pulling away, Sam rested his hands on his lap. Out of hazel-green speckled eyes, he peeked up at his brother from under his bangs.

  _It needs to be cut_ , Dean thought, even though he knew quite well that Sam liked it best when it was long. _Maybe because he wants to hide he's what he sees as different?_ Dean wondered with regard to what Sam had just told him.

  “Dean? Will you go with me?” Sam then asked timidly.

  Caught on the wrong foot due to his musings, Dean blurted, “Go with you where?”

  Squinting up through his bangs again, Sam eyed him somewhat hopefully, “Trick-or-treating.”

  Even though Dean could understand why his brother wanted to share the traditions with his friends, he did not quite see why they should have to dress up as monsters and go from house to house to collect sweets. Especially for one reason.

  “Sam, aren't you too old for that?”

  “I'm only _nine,”_ Sam huffed.

  “Nine's old enough, Sammy,” Dean argued, “You're a big boy now. Certainly...”

“Still a kid!” Sam pouted, going on stubbornly, “We're both kids, Dean.”

“Right, dude, we're kids,” Dean came back roughly, “But that type of thing's for babies.”

Brusquely pushing his chair back, Sam stood up and yelled, “Stop talking like you're Dad! You're not my father! You're my brother!”

Dumbstruck, the elder Winchester could just stare at his younger sibling.

“I know Dad wants us to be hunters,” Sam hoarsely continued, sounding astonishingly mature for a nine-year old, “Would we try and have a Halloween if we were stuck at some rundown motel? Of course not. Like Thanksgiving with an extra big portion of chicken wings.” While Sam spoke, his features fell and his voice became whiny. “Dean... let's do this now. Be kids for one night. Just this once.”

  Grimacing, Dean picked the gun back up. Knowing that arguing was fruitless because he would cave in the end anyway in order to make Sam happy, he relented, “All right. We're going. But don't think I'm gonna wear a costume.”

  Seeing the delight in his little brother's eyes was worth the compromise.

  “C'mon, Sammy, let's get Bobby and do some more target practicing.”

  “I'm not done with my homework yet,” Sam complained.

  “It's getting dark early,” Dean declared. “Let's practice now, finish your school stuff later.”

  Heaving a sigh, Sam went with his big brother.

 

xXx

 

  On October 31, Sam was bursting with enthusiasm. As Halloween fell on a Saturday this year, neither one of them had school. Without the distraction, he was barely capable to contain his excited energy, bounced around in his seat during breakfast, running around the kitchen when they cleared the table, and he could hardly concentrate on his homework that he was supposed to complete before engaging in any festivities. By the early afternoon, his brother was fed up with his antics.

  “Sammy!” Dean called out for him with hardly suppressed annoyance. “Let's go outside and use the good weather for combat training!”

  “Why don't ya give the kid a break?” Bobby snorted from where he sat at his old wooden desk over a pile of hefty looking tomes.

  “I promised to go trick-and-treating with him,” Dean scoffed. “I'm not going to have him so wound up by the time we leave that he'll be running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

  “It's Halloween, Dean,” Bobby scolded, putting a slip of paper between the pages before he slapped the book closed. Eyeing the boy closely, he implored “That's what kids do. You should know, you're one of them.”

“I'm not a kid,” Dean retorted, “I killed a ghost a few months back.”

“You helped your Daddy salt and burn some bones, it's not the same thing, kiddo.”

“Well, it won't be Halloween until after dinner,” Dean shot back. “So I'm going to take my _kid_ brother and go and train fro a bit. We haven't made as much progress as I'm sure my Dad would've expected us to by now.”

  Pressing his palms on top of the thick volume, Bobby mustered as much calm as possible, “John's not going to be worried about how much train ya've done, boy. By the time he gets back, he'll just be happy to see ya.”

  “Will he?” Dean challenged.

  “Of course, you idjit,” Bobby snapped. “He's your father.”

  By a hair's breadth, Dean would have laughed. Yes, John was their father. Ever since their mother's death, though, he also was their teacher and drill sergeant. Dean recalled how his father first took him out for target practice, putting up some bottles, and having him shoot at them. Back then, he had been six or seven. Younger than Sam was when he got his first lessons. Being the older brother, he was expected to take care of Sam and protect him. And it went without saying that he needed to prepare his brother for whatever challenges came their way.

  Dean knew full well that he not always fulfilled that responsibility.

  “You're right,” he heard himself say. “But we should still practice. Can't hurt after all.”

  “Dean?” Sam queried, as he came running into the room. “Did you say something about training?”

  “Yep, Sammy,” Dean confirmed, still keeping his gaze on Bobby. “Just for an hour or so.”

  “Okay,” Sam agreed, his face falling.

  “Oh, c'mon, Sammy,” Dean tried to encourage him. “You like to learn new fighting tricks, don't you?”

  “Yeah,” Sam nodded, but it did not sound convincing.

  “C'mon,” Dean winked at him. “I still have a lot of those up my sleeve.”

  “Okay...”

  With little enthusiasm, Sam trotted out of the house and down the stairs. Actually, he liked to train with his older brother. Dean had always been there for him for as long as he could remember and to whom he looked up to. Dean was not just his brother, he was his hero. More so than their father.

  Right at that moment, Sam had other things on his mind besides training.

  “Alright, Sammy,” Dean challenged, stepping up behind him and taking him unexpectedly by the shoulder. “Show me...”

  A yelp escaped the older sibling when Sam whirled around, taking his arm and twisting it in a way that sent Dean into the dust.

  “Very good, Sammy!” Dean cheered as he rolled over his shoulder and came back up to his feet.

  There was little that made Sam Winchester happier than approval from his big brother.

  With considerably more enthusiasm, he parried Dean's next attack.

 

xXx

 

  In the late afternoon, Sam and Dean came inside to have an early dinner with Bobby. The seasoned hunter had managed to cook a pumpkin stew. Surprised, the boys saw that the dish was being served in the hollowed out pumpkin shell. Dean saw Sam's eyes widen with delight which made him smile fondly. Sam rushed over to the table and scooted into his chair, eagerly eyeing the meal. Smirking to himself, Dean sat at the table as well.

  “Did ya boys have fun?” Bobby asked, skeptically taking in the fresh bruises and abrasions, not to mention they were covered in dirt.

  “Dean showed me two of his tricks,” Sam proudly declared. “I got to floor him four times!”

  “That's great,” Bobby agreed, casting a suspicious look at Dean. Hand to hand combat was not exactly what the seasoned hunter had imagined for the boys' Halloween. “What else did ya do?”

  “We practiced with our hunting knives and shot at targets,” Dean threw in. “Sam's getting better and better.”

  “Great,” Bobby nodded, reaching for the ladle. “Then you've earned to be served first.”

  Scooping a generous portion into Sam's bowl first, Bobby then turned to Dean.

  “Your dad called while ya were outside,” he said as he served the elder brother with stew, quickly cutting him off, “Told me not to call ya in. He sends his best... wants ya to know that he'll be busy with this case for at least another week.”

  Rolling his eyes, Dean picked up his spoon. That was typical of their father and it was exactly the reason why he had not bothered to speak with his son. Dean just wished he knew more about John's current hunt. Maybe he would not feel as restless as he did if he knew what the hunter was up against. He would not feel as if he was letting him down because he was not there to back him up.

  _I'm exactly where he expects me to be,_ Dean told himself. _Watching out for Sammy_.

  With a sigh, he dug into his stew.

  “It's yummy, Uncle Bobby,” Sam piped up, speaking around a mouthful of beef and pumpkin.

  “Sammy...” Dean scolded gently.

  “Ease up, Dean,” Bobby remarked, “you're not his father.”

  “No, Bobby,” Dean shot back, glaring at the grizzled hunter, “I'm not. But still, he shouldn't be talking with his mouth full.”

  “Just eat your stew, boy,” Bobby demanded brusquely, then turning to the younger brother, “Thanks, Sam, I'm glad you think it's good.”

  “It really is, Uncle Bobby,” Sam declared steadfastly. “I don't remember if we ever had anything like it.”

“Half-burned and overcooked?” Bobby chuckled with a mischievous wink.

“Homemade stew.”

Hearing his brother say that in such an earnest way, Dean suddenly lost all his appetite. He had no desire to be reminded of all the small things the family had sacrificed. Shoving his plate away, he stood from the table and left without excusing himself.

tbc...

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Dean?”

Carefully pushing the door to their room open, Sam peeked through the gap. Seeing his brother sit by the window, he ventured inside and sat down on his bed, pulling up his legs to cross them.

“You should get ready, Sammy,” Dean stated wearily without looking at him. Truth be told, he was glad that it was his brother who sought him out and not Bobby. Being judged about how he handled his own flesh and blood by somebody who barely knew him just was not his thing.

“Are we still going?” Sam asked uncertainly.

“Yeah, we are,” Dean nodded, still not turning his gaze away from the sunset over the junkyard.

“Thanks,” Sam muttered and scooted off the bed. First, he started for the wardrobe, but then he crossed over to his brother. Standing behind him undecidedly, he just asked, “What did I say? Are you mad at me?”

Shaking his head, Dean still did not turn. When he answered, his voice sounded hoarse, “I'm not mad at you, Sammy. It's... just memories. Sorry. Get yourself ready.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed and went to put on his costume. While he changed, he mused about what Dean might be remembering. Given the fact that it came up over dinner, he suspected that his brother had recalled their mother. Sam himself hardly remembered her at all, which was why it was hard for him to grasp why Dean got into that mood. He could not miss what he did not know. What he did miss was merely the idea of a regular mom, of a regular family.

Once he was done changing, Sam left for the bathroom.

With a sigh, Dean finally turned around and opened a drawer to get out what he had collected the day before. Fastening a plastic bottle with salt, a wooden stake, an iron bar, and one of his hunting knives to his belt, he prepared himself.

“I'm ready!” Sam stated excitedly when he reappeared, his face now as white as snow except the dark rings around his eyes as well as blackened lips and nose.

“You're quite the make-up artist,” Dean grinned at him, fondly reaching out to tuck a strand of his brother's unruly hair under the white hood of his skeleton costume. “C'mon, let's go.”

“But you're not in costume yet.”

“I am,” Dean declared, gesturing at himself, “I'm going as a hunter.”

Chuckling, Sam took him by his hand and dragged him outside. Downstairs, Bobby awaited them.

“Have fun, Sam,” he said, giving the boy a lopsidedly grinning pumpkin lantern and a small bucket for the sweets before he briefly hugged him. Turning to Dean, he added, “You'll be back at one at the latest.”

“We'll be back at midnight,” Dean replied. “C'mon, Sammy.”

Happily, Sam bounded out of the house and down the front porch. Dean had only barely caught up to him when they left the scrap yard through the big gate. From there, they marched side by side down the road into town.

“Dean?” Sam broke the silence between them in a chatty tone, “I know it's all supposed to be a fun tradition for the kids, going from house to house, collecting sweets in exchange for not playing tricks to the people...”

When he trailed off, Dean prodded, “But?”

“But what if there really are ghosts in town tonight?”

“Come again?”

“Our teacher explained that Halloween, or _Samhain_ in Irish, used to be seen as the time when the boundaries between this world and the Afterlife thinned. That meant that the _Aos Sí_ , the spirits or fairies, could more easily travel from back and forth. And that they become more active. Do you think there’s any truth to it? I mean, after all, we both know that ghost are very very real. “

A low chuckle escaped Dean. It did not cease to amaze him how his little brother soaked up such knowledge.

“Sam, you know perfectly well that there doesn't need to be a special time for ghosts to become active,” he explained. “Dad's been up against ghosts quite often, actually.”

“I know that,” Sam groused, “It's just... could there be even more than usual on a night like this?”

“Could be,” Dean shrugged.

“Good that you've come as a hunter then,” Sam teased good-naturedly.

“Oh, yeah?” Dean joked back, “Be careful, little skeleton, or I'll salt and burn you.”

“You wouldn't dare!” Sam challenged.

“Don't try me!” Dean laughed, reaching out for his brother to tickle his side.

Laughing, Sam fell into a run, Dean close on his heels. Both breathed heavily when they reached their current school where they met a couple of kids, gathering for trick-and-treating. Most of them were about Sam's age or younger, the others were teenagers accompanying their siblings.

Glancing up at his brother, Sam saw him smile. His attention clearly was not on Sam but on one of the older girls.

“Do you know her?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, eyeing the redhead intently. “We're in the same class.”

Sam saw his interest with trepidation. Of course, he knew that the difference of age would show sooner or later, and only recently, he had noticed subtle changes in his brother. About half a year ago, Dean would have ignored the girls. Now he hid an issue of Busty Asian Beauties under his mattress, which Dean certainly thought Sam did not know about. Along with his interests, his body changed, most notably his voice. Sam could hear that it became more masculine, deeper, more voluminous, and a touch coarse.

Preludes to their relationship changing as well.

Pushing the thought aside, Sam looked around for boys he knew and flinched when he spotted a clown. Hopefully, Dean had not noticed his fright. Sam did not know why he hated clowns but there was something about them that just gave him the creeps. Then, he discovered a pirate and a zombie, two of his classmates, among the others. Nudging Dean, he steered his brother in their direction.

“Hey, Colin! Hey, Shelby!”

They waved back and a second later, they were chatting happily. Dean stood somewhat awkwardly to the side, looking around for the group of older children. Studying them closer, he noted that most of them were costumed as well. Even some of the teenagers wore masks.

Dean just started to cross over to the teens, when someone stepped into his path. Frozen in his tracks, the elder Winchester could not help but stare at the girl in front of him. A voluminous mane of long, white waves cascaded over her shoulders, topped by a pink, white, and black flower crown. In white and black she had painted an intricate pattern, giving her face the shape of a skull. Compared to its real life counterpart, it looked much prettier. So pretty actually, that Dean could not tear his eyes off her sugar skull ensemble, a costume typical for the Mexican _Day of the Dead_.

“Hello,” she smirked, “You're Sam's brother, right?”

“Y-yes,” he stammered, surprised by being addressed, “I'm Dean.”

“Erika,” she replied. “You don't like Halloween?”

“Why?”

“No costume...”

“Oh...” Looking down at himself, Dean explained, “I'm a hunter.”

“Wouldn't you be dressed in green and brown then?” Erika wanted to know. “Wear a quilted vest and carry a rifle?”

“Not that kind of hunter,” Dean laughed, declaring proudly, “I'm hunting monsters.”

This time, she laughed as well.

“In that case, you'll be busy tonight.”

“Probably,” he snickered, secretly amused knowing that she would run for her life if she knew the truth.

“Dean?” Sam called out for him. “Can Colin and Shelby come with us?”

“Sure,” Dean replied absently.

“Can I join in, too?” Erika asked. “With my little sister?”

When Dean nodded, she waved at a young girl in a costume similar to hers to come over. Instead of pink and black, her colors were shades of blue and a deep purple, her face adorned with sequins in addition to the painting.

“Boys?” Erika turned to Sam and his friends. “It's okay that Ronni and I come along as well, right?”

“A girl?” Colin complained.

“At least her costume's cool,” Shelby cut in.

“You won't be a scaredy-cat, right?” Colin asked the girl who shook her head.

“Okay.”

Shelby nodded his consent while Sam just shrugged. One look at Dean told him clearly that he liked to have the girl's big sister around, so he could hardly disagree.

“Thanks, boys,” Erika said, reaching into the flower-adorned bag she carried and getting sweets out to put them into the boys' buckets. “Go, Ronni. Have fun.”

While the four kids ran off toward the first houses, Dean and Erika strolled behind, keeping an eye on them from the distance.

“So... Halloween in Sioux Falls, huh?” Dean queried, “What are you gonna be up to when the little kids are in bed?”

“Not much, actually.”

“You're not going to meet with friends and tell each other ghost stories?” Dean challenged... and grimaced when his voice jumped to a squeaky cadence unexpectedly. Ever since his voice began to change with puberty, it did that occasionally. Thankfully, Erika seemed to ignore it. “C'mon. Watching the kids go trick-and-treating doesn't really cut it, does it?”

“I guess not,” Erika shrugged. “There's not much you can do around here. We might sit around and chat later, but that's about it. Sometimes we have a bonfire if we can get enough firewood.”

“So what you're saying is your town's boring?”

“Pretty much,” Erika chuckled. “Only thing interesting around here is this rundown house that no kid is going to be caught dead in. Everyone says it's haunted, even the adults. It's rotting away for years now.”

“Sounds interesting,” Dean smirked. “We should check it out later.”

“No way! Wild horses couldn't drag me to old Nicolas Barnes' house. ”

Mentally filing away the information, Dean came back, “Would be a job for a hunter, though. So where's this house?”

“I wouldn't go near it if I were you,” Erika implored him, “People go missing there, or so they say.”

If anything, that statement only encouraged him rather than dissuade him from going there. “One more reason to check it out. C'mon, tell me.”

“It's right next to the cemetery,” Erika relayed. “On its east side.”

“Cemetery,” Dean grinned with a quirk of his brow. “Awesome.”

 

xXx

 

Three hours later, Dean had not gotten any further with Erika. Sure they had spent the night talking but the elder Winchester would have liked if he had been able to spend some alone time with the girl. He even thought about lifting a few drinks from the local convenience store in order to impress her but in the end, thought better of it.

After traipsing across the whole town, the kids had collected all the sweets they could carry. They already had dropped Colin and Shelby off, and Erika was just saying goodbye in order to take Ronni home.

“See you around, Dean,” she said and breathed a kiss onto his cheek.

Grinning stupidly, the elder Winchester watched as the two girls walked away.

“So, did you have fun, Sammy?” he asked after a while. His younger brother sat on a bench, unwrapping a chocolate bar. He had shoved off the white hood of his costume, revealing a mop of auburn hair. A smirk cracked Dean's features at the idea of tackling the mane with a couple of hair clips.

“I did,” Sam answered around a bite of chocolate. “Thanks, Dean.”

Still smirking to himself, Dean queried, “What do you think about the stories about that Barnes guy?”

“That Bobby would've sorted him out if the tales were true?” Sam queried in return. Holding up his bucket, he asked, “Do you want something?”

Dean shook his head.

“Maybe we should have a look at the house,” he suggested, “See if there's a grain of truth to the story. Bobby could help us put Barnes to rest.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam replied, “Do you really think that a ghost could haunt a house in this town for years without Bobby noticing?”

“You've got a point, bro,” Dean shrugged. “But we could still have a look. Just to be on the safe side.”

“You just want to scare me,” Sam sighed.

“Will it work?” Dean teased.

“Not yet, no,” Sam shook his head and got up from the bench. “C'mon, let's brighten your Halloween a little.”

Grinning widely, Dean patted his brother's shoulder before they started toward the cemetery. Finding Barnes' house was not at all difficult. The yard had turned into a wilderness and the building had obviously suffered from the elements. Dark yawning holes peppered the sides of the house where the glass had been broken from the windows.

“Spooky,” Dean remarked as they approached.

“If you say so,” Sam sighed.

The lock of the front door did not pose a challenge to Dean. Quickly, he had it picked and shoved the door open to let them in. Producing a flashlight, Dean stepped inside. Putting his lantern and the bucket down on the porch, Sam followed close behind.

“Maybe we should've told Bobby where we were going,” Sam mused aloud. “Just in case.”

“I thought you weren't scared,” Dean shot back.

“I'm not scared,” Sam objected, “I'm just saying that we shouldn't hunt without him knowing.”

“You can wait outside if you want,” Dean remarked.

Shaking his head, Sam trotted along. They crossed the hall into the living room and from there into the kitchen. Returning to the hall, they peeked through another door, leading to a study. Curiously, Dean paused, letting the ray of light drift back to something he had spotted.

“A statue?” Sam wondered at the almost life-size statue of an angel. “In here?”

It stood in front of a big shelf filled with books, its big wings folded on its back. One might have thought it was choosing a volume if it did not cover its eyes with its hands as if it was weeping.

“Maybe Barnes thought it was too valuable to stand out in the garden,” Dean shrugged. “C'mon. Let's search the rest of the house.”

They had just approached the stairs to the first floor when he heard Sam gasp behind him.

“What is it, Sammy?”

“I-I... D-did you hear it, too?” Sam's voice shook a little as he clasped his brother's jacket. “I think there's... _something._ There.”

Shining the light in the direction Sam indicated, Dean looked around. The rays of his flashlight moved towards the entry to the study and...

...fell onto the stone angel that now stood in the doorway, its eyes still covered by its hands.

“Dean?” Sam whimpered, searching for contact with his brother and squeezing his hand firmly when he found it.

“What the...! That's not possible,” Dean mused aloud, eyeing the statue intently. “It's made of stone.”

“I'm sure Dad has seen weirder things,” Sam muttered anxiously. “Dean, let's get out of here.”

Curiously studying every inch of the weeping angel, Dean stepped a little closer until the hold on his hand stopped him. Looking the angel right in the face, he queried, “What are you?”

“It's creepy,” Sam grouched, tugging on Dean's hand. “Come, let's go home.”

For a second, Dean bristled at Sam calling Bobby's scrapyard home. With a pang of hurt, he realized that it was the closest they got to a home. They did not call the seasoned hunter _uncle_ without a reason. In some ways, Bobby was more a father to them than John was, mostly in his efforts of treating them to everyday activities like throwing baseballs with Dean or decorating his house for Halloween to make Sam happy.

A more insistent tug on his hand helped Dean decide.

“Alright, Sammy,” he agreed. “We're leaving.”

Unable to tear his eyes off the ominous angel, still wracking his mind about what it might be, Dean let Sam lead him to the front door. Stepping on something like a pebble or stick, he lost his balance for a second. When he looked back up, he gasped with surprise, stiffening up and pulling his hand out of Sam's grasp to reach for his knife instead.

“Dean?” his brother gasped anxiously. “What's wrong?”

“It moved!” Dean panted, staring wide-eyed at the angel that clearly came after him now, frozen in motion, one arm stretched out toward him and its wings raised behind it. One might expect an angel to have an eternal look of serenity, but this was not the case. As if it was alive, this creature’s face was immobilized in a snarl, fangs clearly visible within its open mouth.

“What is it?” Sam whimpered.

“I don't know,” Dean hoarsely replied, not daring to take his eyes off. “I just looked away for a second and it moved across half of the hallway.”

“Then we shouldn't leave it out of our sight?” Sam asked dreadfully.

“Probably not.”

Keeping his eyes on the statue, Dean wracked his mind in an attempt to figure out how the statue had been able to move and whether or not he would be able to stop it with what few weapons he had. The knife probably would not leave a scratch, even though he felt better holding it. In the end, he put it away and got the iron bar out instead, weighing it in his hand.

“You think that's the ghost?” Sam queried, knowing that iron repelled ghosts. “Erika said that people went missing here, right?”

“That ain't no ghost,” Dean replied, his voice even coarser than before. For a split second, his eyes closed when he had to blink. “Holy Sh--!” Seeing that the angel had approached another two yards, both arms stretched out and fingers splayed to grab him, Dean squealed.

“Sammy?” he called out for his brother, voice slightly shaking as the whole magnitude of his misjudgment dawned on him. “You should go and get Bobby.”

“No!” Sam cried. “I won't leave you!”

“Sam!” Dean shouted with more anger than he intended. “That thing just lunged at me in the blink of an eye!”

“Then I'll look at it,” Sam suggested. “You get out of there.”

“No!”

“Dean, you can't keep standing there all night.”

“I can stand here long enough for you to go get Bobby,” Dean declared with little conviction. Truth be told, he was shaking inside, scared by the angel seemingly trapped in the cone of his flashlight.

“But...”

“Sammy!” Dean persisted, finding the courage to take a stand due only to the thought that his little brother had to make it out alive. “What are you waiting for? Get the hell out of here!”

“I can't go without you!” Sam all but sobbed.

“You've got to!”

“No!” Sam yelled. “Get to the door! I'll look at it!”

“Samuel, no!” Dean cried out, feeling how his brother pulled on the back of his jacket. Stumbling backwards, he lost track of the angel, the light dancing across the hallway. When he shone at the angel again, it still stood in the same place, frozen in the same posture.

“See?” he heard Sam's shaky voice. “It worked.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean spat. “And now what?”

“Now... kill it?”

Chuckling hysterically, Dean gasped, “How?”

Panic tightened his chest when he saw Sam's gaze flickering at him for just a second. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the angel's motion.

_Sam shouldn't have done that!_

Shining his light in search of the angel, Dean darted forward in order to protect his little brother.

“Dean!” he heard Sam shout.

Reflexively, Dean looked around at him to see whether he was unharmed. For a split second, he caught sight of him before his world tilted sickeningly. Thrown into a spin, Dean cried out in shock. Though he did not feel any pain, he knew that something terrible had happened.

Caving to vertigo, Dean passed out.

 

tbc...

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone!!!  
> Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me and giving kudos. I enjoy chatting with you. Here's the final chapter. Enjoy!  
> This chapter is for [MalMuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses).  
> Big thanks to [User24601](https://archiveofourown.org/users/User24601/pseuds/User24601) for beta-reading.

 

Screaming, Sam stared at the space where his older brother had been a split-second before, but where there was now only thin air. In the light of the fallen flashlight, he saw the angel staring at the same empty space, standing straight and its hand lifted to touch. Wide-eyed and still breathing heavily between squeals of terror, Sam stared back at the creature.

_Don't blink!_

Incapable of moving as if he was frozen by the gaze they were holding as well, Sam willed his eyes to stay open. Tears of grief lurked in their corners, beginning to burn. Though he did not know for sure what had happened to Dean, he had seen him vanish in the blink of an eye when the weeping angel touched him.

_Though it's not weeping anymore,_ Sam thought miserably. Now, nothing stood between him and the angel.

Carefully, he wiped at his right eye to clear it of tears, forcing himself not to blink with the left one. Then he did the same with the left eye. Taking long breaths in and releasing them slowly, Sam did his best to keep looking at the creepy creature.

Eventually, his eyes blinked on their own accord.

Squealing, Sam realized that the angel lunged again, now only about a yard away. Whining with fear, the boy crawled backwards until his shoulders hit the wall. As he could not take his eyes off the angel, he felt around for the door but could not find it.

_Oh, my God. It'll kill me, too._

Hearing footsteps, Sam was tempted to look around but forced himself not to do so. In the faint light, he could make out a tall shape that placed itself between him and the angel. Above women's shoes and slender ankles clad in tights, a beige coat towered in front of him, cutting off Sam's sight of the angel statue. Letting his view drift up, he saw a dark halo of coiffed hair.

“Shut your eyes, Sam,” the mystery woman told him in a surprisingly dark voice.

Just before he complied, Sam saw her lift her right arm.

_How does she know my name?_ he wondered just when a blinding white light engulfed him that made him curl in on himself, hiding his head between his arms. Together with the light, he heard a high screech. Then something crumpled to the floor and the unearthly shine was gone as well.

Shivering badly, Sam first could not lift his head. He could not even think. Time seemed to stand still for a couple of shaky breaths. Crying hard, he finally uncurled. Around him was darkness.

On hands and knees, Sam searched for the flashlight and found it under a cluster of broken stone. Switching it on, he discovered a whole pile of fractured rock.

_The weeping angel_ , he thought.

“Dean?” Sam called out. “Dean!”

The house lay silent.

His brother was gone.

The woman was gone.

Sam was all alone.

“Deannnn!”

No response.

Crying heartbrokenly, Sam slumped to the floor. For several minutes, all he could do was cry. When he ran out of tears, he awkwardly got to his feet. Looking around uncertainly, Sam felt torn about leaving the house. Maybe his brother was not gone but trapped somewhere in here.

_I should go and get Bobby._

Deciding that that was the best he could do, Sam gripped the flashlight harder and scrambled out of the house before running all the way back to Singer's scrapyard.

 

xXx

 

“Where the hell have you been?” Bobby thundered when the door opened and Sam stumbled inside and onto the worn entry rug. It was almost two in the morning and the grizzled hunter was out of his mind with worry about the boys his friend had entrusted in his care.

“Uncle Bobby!” Sam cried out, darting to him and wrapping his arms around his waist.

Only then, Bobby noticed that Sam was alone.

Sam was alone and sobbing into the hunter's checkered flannel shirt.

Bobby's stomach lurched.

“Sam?” he groused, “Where's Dean?”

Clinging even tighter to Bobby, Sam only cried louder.

“Sam!” Bobby gasped, trying to extricate the boy from himself and make him look up at him. “Are you listening? Where's your brother?”

“I don't know,” Sam sobbed.

“Did he lose you?” Bobby prodded.

“No,” Sam shook his head, wiping at his tears. “I lost him.”

“Come, let's take a seat,” Bobby declared, steering the boy to the kitchen and into a chair. “Take a deep breath...” he demanded, waiting for Sam to do as he said, “Good. Keep breathing... and then tell me what happened.”

Taking a seat diagonally across from him, Bobby looked at him expectantly.

“It was... I don't know. There was that angel. A stone angel. It followed us and...”

When Sam paused, Bobby pushed, “And what? What did it do?”

“It... seemed like a statue when you looked at it,” Sam tried to explain between sobs. “It moved when you didn't, though. Fast. It had fangs.”

Uncertainly, Sam looked up at the hunter, waiting to hear if Bobby might know what they had encountered. Their father's friend appeared clueless, though.

“Now, where's Dean?”

“It... the angel touched him,” Sam cried softly, almost tonelessly. “It touched him and he was gone.”

“It killed him?”

Shrugging, Sam sniffled, “He just was... gone. One second he was there and then he wasn't.”

Confused, Bobby listened to Sam's tale. His description of the mysterious angel statue did not ring any bells. What Sam told him about the woman who stepped in and saved him, destroying the angel, sounded outrageous. Most intriguing of all was what had happened to Dean.

When Sam was done talking and had calmed a little, Bobby finally dared to ask where all that had transpired. Of course, he was not happy to hear about the boys going to the Barnes house, but right at that moment, he was much more concerned about Dean's whereabouts, not to mention his wellbeing.

After some convincing, Sam agreed to show him where his brother had vanished. Bobby drove them to Barnes' house that lay dark and vacated upon their arrival. Carrying a powerful kerosene lamp, Bobby came around the car to open the door for Sam. The boy clung to his hand the whole time while he showed him to the scattered pile of rocks that had once been the creepy weeping angel. Despite Bobby's extensive attempts at tracking Dean, he could not find a trace of him.

Dean just was gone.

In the end, all Bobby could do was take a distraught Sam back to his house and stay with the boy until he had cried himself to sleep. Only then, the seasoned hunter dared to leave his side. Sitting down at his desk, he picked up his phone. Calling every hunter he knew, he tried to find some trace of information about the stone angels Sam had described. Before hanging up, he asked his fellow hunters to keep their eyes open in case the creature had teleported Dean somewhere or if they heard of similar disappearances.

Conveniently leaving out the bit of information about the missing boy being Dean, Bobby prayed no one would think to involve John Winchester in the matter. He needed to find the boy and as quickly as possible, getting John involved at this point would complicate the matter.

When he ran out of phone numbers to call, Bobby combed through his bookshelves in order to find a volume that might contain the information they needed to uncover the mystery of the stone angel. Only when he could not read anymore due to the pressure behind his eyes, he allowed himself a moment of weakness and shed a few tears.

 

xXx

 

Coming to, Dean still felt nauseous. Through his closed eyelids, he saw bright sunlight. He felt the warmth on his skin while an inexplicable cold still permeated his body. Only slowly, those facts registered in his mind. When they did, his eyes flew open and he jerked up to a sitting position. At once, he felt lightheaded again, and he quickly closed his eyes against the brightness and nausea.

_What the hell happened?_

Finally cracking his eyes open, he looked around for his brother.

“Sam?”

No response.

Confused, Dean took in his surroundings. When the weeping angel had touched him, he had been inside Barnes' house, but he had awakened laying in a meadow. Grass and corn fields stretched as far as he could see.

“What the hell?”

Taking a couple of deep breaths, Dean tried to collect himself. Terror nagged at his insides which probably was the reason for the persistent coldness. Though he clearly felt the sun's warmth on his face and hands, he still shivered. Rubbing his hands over his face, he attempted to collect himself. Though he neither knew where he was nor whether anyone would be searching for him, Dean knew that he could not stay sitting in the meadow.

He braced himself and scrambled to his feet. For a short moment, he swayed before he gained his balance. From this new perspective, he could see a path and started in its direction. Unsteady from whatever had happened to him, he staggered through the knee-high grass. Apparently, the cold had affected his muscles. Only slowly, he made his way across the meadow. Upon reaching the path, Dean found it to be a dirt road.

_Which direction is Bobby's place?_

As it hardly seemed to matter, Dean turned to the left and began to walk.

_One thing's for sure. That was a real creepy Halloween night._

Somehow, that thought did not fit the rising heat.

_Why is it this warm in November?_

With every step Dean took, he felt a bit of warmth return to his body. The more he recovered, the more aware he became that he seemed to be dislocated. This was not the October chill of South Dakota. This was more like summer in the deep south. Insects were buzzing and birds singing while not a single cloud tainted the blue sky.

Eventually, the rising heat urged Dean to shed his jacket and overshirt, and he wrapped both around his waist, knotting the sleeves in the front. Sweat beaded on his brow as he climbed a slope. That was when he heard a car coming from behind. Intent on hitching a ride, he turned around.

His intention forgotten, Dean could only stare at the car as it approached. If he was not mistaken, he was looking at an old Ford. The varnish of the Model T gleamed in the sunlight as it rolled past him. It was so well kept that it looked new.

Scowling deeply, Dean wracked his mind about what he was missing. The clues were right in front of him, but the solution still eluded him. He had walked another couple of minutes before it hit him: The clothing both the driver and the lady riding shotgun had worn had looked very unfamiliar, as if they originated from another time.

_They chose them to fit their classic car_ , Dean told himself, though a part of him already suspected another explanation.

In the distance, he saw a town and lengthened his strides.

When he finally reached the first houses, Dean looked around curiously. The few cars that parked along the street appeared out of time as well. He knew enough about cars to be able to tell that they had been built sometime between 1920 and 1930.

The houses also looked different: trimmed lawns, white picket fences, front porches, some of the latter complete with a swing. With confusion, Dean noted the total lack of satellite dishes. The town gave him the impression to have fallen into a museum village. Some sort of period reenactment or movie set.

_But if that was the case, where are all the people? Shouldn't there be tourists or cameramen_ _?_

Walking down the street, Dean looked for landmarks and eventually spotted a gas station. Like everything else, it appeared old-fashioned, including the advertisements and the gas pumps. Pushing his hands into his pants pockets, Dean searched for coins.

He was hungry.

When he entered and looked around the shelves, he started with astonishment upon reading the price tags.

_That can't be!_

Grabbing a paper wrapped candy bar, he turned for the cashier's counter to pay and discovered a short stack of newspapers. Eyes widening with shock, Dean stared at the date of the Sioux Falls Chronicle:

 

June 14, 1922

 

Snatching the top paper off the counter, he exclaimed, "What the Hell!"

"Hey! Mind your language, boy!" the man behind the counter scolded.

Throwing two coins on the countertop, Dean ran out of the shop. Turning right, he continued down the street. Only twice, a car passed him on his desperate search for a  safe place to go.

_Where to?_

A white facade caught his eye and he turned in its direction. Having no better place to hide, Dean entered the church. The benches were too prominent for his liking, so he strode along the wall until he reached a dark corner. Leaning his back against the wall, he slid down to sit on the floor. Hiding in the shadows, the young Winchester fought his tears.

_What happened? Is this the_ _creepy_ _angel's doing? Frigging nineteen twenty-two? What the hell?_

Through tears blurring his sight, Dean stared at the newspaper headline. He could not wrap his head around seeing another date there, especially a date so far in the past.

_If that's really true and I'm in 1922, then... then I'll probably die of old age before I'm even born._

Choking on the realization, he put the paper down. Fresh tears burned in his eyes and he pulled his knees up to wrap his arms around them and hugging them to himself.

"Bobby, I'm sorry," he sobbed,  his maturing voice surprisingly squeaky with distress . "We shouldn't have gone there. Please let me wake from this nightmare."

Hiding his head between his arms, he curled up to a tight ball and cried.

It took Dean quite a while to calm down from his initial shock. When he finally looked up again, he heard his stomach growl. Despite the aching concern that knotted up his insides, he reached for the red and white packaged candy bar and peeled back the wrapper. The smell of chocolate hit his nose and he took comfort in the familial aroma. Carefully, as if he did not expect it to be real, Dean took a small bite. The taste chocolate covered peanuts, caramel, and nougat filled his mouth. Slowly relishing the sensation of eating a Baby Ruth bar, it made his situation more bearable. It wasn’t any less dire but at least he didn’t have to figure things out on an empty stomach.

 

_ What the hell am I gonna do? I'm only thirteen. Hardly went to school and when I did, I didn't pay attention. Now I'm trapped in a time that isn't my own. _

Once more, tears welled in his eyes.

_Maybe I can find other hunters. They might know if there's some kind of ritual that could reverse what the angel did. There could be creatures that are able to jump through time. And if nothing can take me back, other hunters might be willing_... there his thought process faltered ... _willing to take me in_.

Suddenly, Dean felt all choked up, his insides constricting painfully.

_If I can't find a way to get back, I'll never see Sammy again!_

_Or Dad!_

_Or Bobby!_

_Anyone!_

A sob caught in his chest as it dawned on him that he might be stuck here forever. As he had no actual idea what the angel had done or which species it belonged to, he did not even know where to start searching for a solution to his problem.

_Oh, my God!_

Shivering violently, Dean wrapped back up to a tight ball. The young Winchester usually was not the type of person who prayed, but right at that moment, he felt so lost and desperate that he did not even think about it.

“God, please... I don't know what to do. I'm so... lost. What am I doing here? I... If you listen...”

A choked laugh escaped him at that.

“I don't really believe in you, but in case you're there, you already know that. Right?”

Shaking his head with incredulity, he laughed again.

“If there ever was a moment... now would be the time when I need your help.”

Fiddling with the empty candy wrapper, Dean thought about how, despite the reverse passage of time, the candy still tasted basically the same as it had in his own time.

_In the time where Sammy is. Where I'm not anymore._

Hysteric laughter broke out of him.

“God? Are you there? Can you help? I'm scared. Please help.”

Cowering in his corner, Dean curled firmly up, seeking a comfort that nobody would give him. Slowly, his tears soaked his jeans. Though he had often been on his own, this was the first time that he truly was alone.

Fear clawed at Dean's heart and spread its icy tendrils throughout his body. Shivers coursed through him, not because he was cold but because he was shaking with fright. Terror engulfed his whole being, slowly but surely overwhelming him.

A fluttering noise made Dean look up. Actually, it sounded like a whole flock of birds. A group of pigeons for example that flew astray into the chapel.

Caught up within his terror, Dean had not heard the door that must have swung open but he did see a figure come into view, slowly walking down the aisle. Ducking deeper into the shadows, he watched the shape becoming recognizable as a woman. A woman wearing a beige, oversized trenchcoat approached the altar. Lowering herself to one knee, she crossed herself and stood back up. Then she stood studying the altar intently.

For a moment, Dean was distracted from his problems as he watched the woman. Somehow, she seemed odd to him the way she stood there, her shoulders hunched and her head tilted to the side as she eyed the wings of the altar.

“Dean.”

Shocked, Dean huddled down even more, trying to hide as best as he could. _That she knew_ _somebody's hiding in the shadows is one thing, but how the hell does she know my name?_

“It is not necessary for you to be experiencing fear,” she said, still speaking in the direction of the altar.

Choking down a lump of anxiety, Dean shifted a little to have a better look at the woman. For all it was worth, she looked like a regular lady. Studying her closely, Dean wracked his mind in order to figure out why she appeared to be out of place. Suddenly, it hit him that her clothes did not fit this era's style.

_A lady from my own time!_

Dean's heart skipped a beat with excitement.

_But how can she possibly know my name?_

Still watching her intently, Dean saw her turn her head slowly in his direction. Even though he was pretty certain that the shadows hid him, he had the distinct feeling that she was looking straight at him. It unsettled him greatly.

Slowly, she turned her gaze back to the altar.

“Dean. You prayed for help.”

Sitting up with confusion, Dean quirked an eye at her. That just was not possible.

_What the hell?_

“I came.”

Her flat statement did little to settle Dean's unease. If anything, it confused him even more. Did she really just say that she came due to his prayer?

_Is that you, God?_

“I am _not_ the Lord.”

Rumbling darkly, her unusually deep voice astonished Dean almost more than the fact that she answered to his thoughts. Before he could process, she spoke again, “I defended your brother before I followed your call.”

This made her a little more trustworthy, but only a little.

“You have no need for hiding in the shadows, Dean Winchester.”

“Then why are you not speaking to me directly?” he shot back angrily, “Because you're inside my frigging head?” Driven by his anger, Dean got to his feet and left the shadows. Of course, he took precautions, getting his knife out and resting his other hand on the iron bar he carried.

“I was not sure how you would react,” she told him calmly, turning her head to face him. “And this altar is a work of art. Fascinating. Art. What your kind is capable of.”

Her way of talking intrigued Dean. It indicated that she really was not what she appeared to be. At the same time, her odd behavior irritated him, so he spat, “What are you?”

Tilting her head to the side, her clear blue eyes fixated on him as she replied, “I am an angel of the Lord. I have come to take you home.”

“You're what?” Dean gasped. “No.”

Cocking her head to the other side, she parroted with disbelief, “No?”

“No way! Monsters, I get,” Dean argued, tentatively taking a couple of steps closer, firmly gripping the hilt of his hunting knife. “Frigging angels? Really?”

Her brows drawn together with concentration, she turned on her heels and crossed over to Dean. Sucking in a sharp breath, he stood his ground. Even when she stood mere inches away, he did his best not to flinch. Her scrutiny unsettled him again because it made him feel like an insect under a microscope.

_Maybe that's what we are to angels,_ Dean thought _. If it really is an angel, that is._

“Your disbelief is not of import,” she stated emotionlessly.

“Do you even know what happened?” Dean snapped. Unnerved by her closeness, he took two steps back.

Still eyeing him with an intensity that shook Dean to the core, she replied, “You were killed by a Lone Assassin.”

“A... what?” Dean shot back skeptically, focusing on the tangible fact of what the monster was.

“A being as old as time itself,” the lady relayed. “The Assassins' most common form is that of a weeping stone statue.”

“So... you really were there?” Dean queried cautiously, realizing that she had yet to give him her name. Her earlier words came to his mind, making him ask, “Is Sam alright?”

“Your younger sibling was filled with fright but physically unharmed.”

“Good,” Dean muttered. “That's good.” Feeling restless all of a sudden, he began to pace. It was hard to puzzle all the pieces together. While he continued to think about it, another detail stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Wait a second!” he panted. “You said it killed me?”

“It did, indeed.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“You must be kidding!” Dean prodded. “I mean, I'm standing right here!”

“Yes.”

“Can you give me another answer than _yes?”_ the young Winchester remarked wryly.

“Yes.”

Apparently, that course of their conversation confused the angel because she scowled. Thoughtfully tiling her head to the side, she explained, “The Lone Assassins, also known as Weeping Angels, feed by making use of time paradoxes.”

Looking at her expectantly, Dean waited, but no further explanation came forward.

“Okay... and?”

“And what?” she came back with equal confusion.

“That doesn't explain how I'm standing here. Alive,” Dean prodded with a cock of his brows.

“Oh.”

Thoughtfully, her attention turned inwards for a moment before she recited, “With their touch, the Lone Assassins can send a person into the past to a point before his or her own birth, then feeding off the potential energy of the years which that victim would have lived in the present.”

“Okay...”

Dean did not really understand what she had just told him but decided that it did not matter. What _did_ matter was that she claimed she could take him home. Back to Sammy, who depended on Dean to keep him safe.

“So... if you came to take me to my own time...” he mused, finally putting his hunting knife back into its sheath, “won't that cause another time paradox?”

“No.”

Quirking a brow, Dean was about to ask for elaboration but decided that a _'no'_ was better than just another yes. He did not need the specifics as long as he managed to get back to his own time.

“So... what are we still doing here?” he asked. “Are we waiting for the lightning to strike, Doc Brown?”

“I do not understand how the weather is of import.”

“It's... the movie,” Dean replied, “Back to the Future.” Seeing her clueless gaze, he shrugged his shoulders. “No? Never mind. Can we go?”

“Yes.”

“Do I have to do anything?”

“No,” she shook her head, lifting her hand to place two fingers on his forehead.

 

xXx

 

The next time Dean woke, he had one hell of a headache. Even before he opened his eyes, he became aware of his skin touching grass. His head rested on something else, though, and there were fingers caressing his forehead and running through his hair soothingly.

Groaning, he tried to sit up.

“No.”

Her soft voice stopped Dean as much as the hand resting on his shoulder.

“Did I pass out?” he queried with clear discomfort. Passing out was embarrassing.

“You do not need to experience a sense of shame,” the angel told him. “Time travel is taxing on the body as well as the soul.”

In case that was angel-speech for feeling like crap, Dean could not disagree. Aside from a general discomfort if not hurt, he sensed something else. It was something he could hardly grasp and could not even begin to describe. Somehow, he felt as if he was engulfed by something, but whatever it might be remained invisible. Lifting a hand, Dean poked the space beside him and felt slight resistance.

“What is it?” he asked, curiously reaching out again. “Is that you?”

“Please stop prodding my wings,” the angel complained.

“Your wings?” Dean parroted with wonder and found himself even less capable to stop his fingers from exploring the seemingly empty space. What he found was a rather weird sensation, but he could almost imagine his fingers running through the soft feathers.

“The air is chilly,” the angel remarked curtly. “Your body is not made to withstand the cold for long, so I am keeping the temperature at an acceptable level while you recover.”

“That's... awesome,” Dean smirked. “Wings!”

“Indeed.”

For another moment, the angel let him rest before she prodded him to get up. Unwilling to leave the peaceful embrace, Dean got to his feet.

“Time to return home,” the angel told him, touching his forehead again.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Dean felt his eyes fall shut. When he could open them again, he was alone, standing in the driveway to Singer's scrapyard.

Confused, Dean looked around. For some reason, he did not remember how he got there. Last thing he knew was that he was with Sam in the derelict house, chasing a ghost. As the sun was just rising above the horizon, he knew that he had spent the night away and that Bobby would be furious about it.

“Oh, crap,” he sighed and stalked towards the house. His intention to sneak in, was thwarted by Bobby who appeared seemingly out of nowhere, grabbing Dean by the shoulders and shaking him.

“Where have ya been?” Bobby demanded to know. “Do ya have any idea what you've done? Sam's been in a panic! Talk to me, son! What happened?”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but the answer kept eluding him.

“I... don't know,” he admitted.

“What's that supposed to mean? You don't know?” Bobby snarled. “Ya think I'm an idgit?”

“N-no,” Dean all but stammered. “It's just... I don't remember. One second, I was in that house, with Sam, and the next second, I'm standing in your driveway.”

Holding the boy on the shoulders at an arms length, Bobby looked him up and down from head to toe. Satisfied that the boy appeared uninjured, he pulled Dean in for a firm hug.

“You scared the crap out of me, boy!” Bobby scolded, squeezing Dean once more before he let go. “Don't do that again!”

Hurried footsteps tumbled down the stairs and a second later, Sam rounded the corner.

“Dean!” he cried out and barreled into his brother's side. “You were just gone! What happened?”

“I... don't know,” Dean had to admit.

“That stone angel,” Sam mumbled into his sibling's jacket. “It touched you and... pft! You were gone.”

“Um...” Helplessly, Dean looked at Bobby who could just shrug. “Guess it zapped me here.”

“But it was hours ago,” Sam whined.

“Sammy,” Dean said, hugging him in return. “I'm here. That's what counts, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

“You know what?” Bobby cut in. “On that note, I'm gonna make ya two a hot cocoa.”

Gratefully, Dean smiled at the grizzled hunter. A hot chocolate would soothe their nerves. Gently ruffling his brother's hair, Dean steered Sam to the couch. Sitting on it cross-legged, Dean pulled Sam in and his little brother gladly snuggled up to him. A few minutes later, Bobby joined them with three mugs filled with steaming cocoa topped with marshmallows, his own spiked with a dash of whiskey.

Unseen by the trio, the mystery woman stood watching them, a satisfied smile tugging on her lips. With the distinct sound of flapping wings, she disappeared.

 

xXx

 

_Thank you for your service._

The words echoed in the back of her mind as Ella found herself standing in light drizzle on the paving stones leading to the front door of their house. She did not remember how she got there, only the otherworldly voice asking her consent. After saying yes, she recalled nothing until she looked up at their house.

Slowly, she went inside and shed her husband's trenchcoat. A look at the clock in the hallway told her that it was time to prepare dinner. So she busied herself in the kitchen until her husband came home. Daniel stopped by to give her a hug and a kiss.

“Did you borrow my coat again?” he teased before he proceeded to the living room in order to read the newspaper. While she worked, she also heard their son coming home. For some reason, Daniel was arguing with him. Due to the sturdy build of the house and the thickness of the walls, she could not make out what was being said.

“Is everything alright?” Ella asked as she entered the room, bringing with her the plates and cutlery to the dining table.

“Yes,” Daniel agreed. “We were just having a discussion.”

She saw their son glowering at him but did not prod. Only when she was done laying the table and placed the bowls with their meal in the middle, could she not stand the silence anymore.

“Don't you want to tell me what you were arguing about?”

“It's about the car!” their son told her in a huff. “Dad doesn't even want me to save money for one. I'm working for it! Why shouldn't I use the money for a car?”

“That's something we should discuss after dinner,” Ella declared. “Now, we're going to eat.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not hungry,” their boy snorted. “Dad ruined my appetite.”

“James Novak,” Ella scolded. “You're going to sit down and eat with us.” Casting her husband a stern look she added, “After dinner, we'll talk.”

With a sigh, both father and son settled at the table. Before anyone could ask, James volunteered to say grace.

Ella cast him a proud look while he spoke. They had raised him in the faith and she knew he had the makings of a devout catholic. Of course, she had no way of knowing which plans God might have for her beloved Jimmy, but she hoped that he would be chosen to serve one day as well. She viewed it as an honor to serve, which was why she had readily agreed when she had been asked earlier today. Though she did not know what the angel had done while inhabiting her human form after she had allowed him to take her as his vessel, she still remembered his name.

Castiel.

 

_The End_

 


End file.
